He finishes his glass and pours another as he examines me. Angelo is aware of everything that transpired, but he never saw the damage firsthand. I can appreciate that he did not wince when he laid eyes upon me, as it has become a natural reaction from most.
“Nice ink,” he remarks. “It suits you.”
“It serves a purpose.” I reach for a tissue and use it to wipe Abel’s blood off my shoe.
“So, you are really going through with this.” His tone is neutral, but he can’t hide the wariness in his eyes. Angelo knows everything regarding my plans for the Moreno family. While I was recovering, we spent many hours going over the details in code over the phone.
I suspect my friend is concerned for me, but he should know me better by now.
“I am,” I answer his question.
He opens the small wooden box resting on the table beside me, inspecting the rings. “It has all been decided.”
“Yes.”
“And what if it doesn’t go to plan?” His gaze drifts back to me.
I toss away the tissue and wipe my hands. “What do you mean?”
“Forever is a long time to exact your revenge. I should think you’d want an end in sight.”
I turn to study him. “Forever is only as long as it requires to give me sons.”
He plucks out Ivy’s ring and studies it. “So, you will bed her for as long as it takes to produce your heirs. Watch her bear those heirs. Care for them as only a mother can. And then either torment her for eternity or bleed the life from her body?”
His tone is uncertain, and it irritates me. “Do you doubt my intentions?”
“Your intentions, no.” He replaces the ring and shuts the box. “The outcome, perhaps.”
“What little faith you have in me,” I mutter.
“Actually, I envy you.”
The emptiness in Angelo’s voice catches me off guard, but his words make me grimace.
“Why would you envy me?”
“Everything has always been so certain to you. I’ve never met anyone who calculates every decision and executes it without a second thought or regret. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live without the weight of indecision or emotions weighing you down.”
I blink at him, frowning. He makes it sound like I’m a robot, although, I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. That’s what most people think of me. The members in IVI call me the human computer. My talent lies in calculations, projections, and complex problems. They can all be easily solved by working it out on paper. But human psychology and the complexity of the emotional spectrum are not in my realm of understanding. There are too many variables, and there is no hard and fast answer.
However, it’s not as if I don’t have emotions. I just choose not to feel or express them.
Angelo chuckles softly as something seems to occur to him. “Remember how Sister Margaret would accuse you of being a sociopath?”
“Yes, well…” I shrug. “Perhaps she was correct.”
Angelo leans against the table and dips his head. “That would be the easiest thing to believe, but I know it isn’t true. I worry that you don’t fully understand what you’re getting yourself into here.”
“Will you question your own intentions when the time comes to exact your revenge?” I pin him with my gaze.
“No.” He stands up and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
I think we are finally finished with this topic, but Angelo proves otherwise.
“I know you’ve fucked women, Santiago, but it isn’t the same as living with one. Facing her presence every day is an inescapable situation. So, please, heed my advice. If you are determined to do this, never forget who she is. Don’t underestimate the power of proximity. Even if she’s sleeping in your bed every night, she is still the enemy.”
I smooth my hands over the lapels of my suit and nod in concession. “There is no need to worry. She will never sleep in my bed.”
13
Santiago
After Angelo’s quiet exit, Judge takes his place beside me to the right of the altar. Before us, the rest of the witnesses are already seated in the church pews. The building is dimly lit with only a soft glow, and though I’d still prefer not to be standing here in front of everyone, it is made easier by the fact that they can only see faint glimpses of me.
Within a few moments, the organist begins to play the music chosen for the ceremony. Ivy appears in the doorway with Abel at her side. I glance at him long enough to see the stone set of his jaw as he meets my gaze, but already, my eyes are drifting to my bride. A silhouette of black lace and roses. She is a haunting thing of beauty, and I almost expect her to disappear like an apparition, never to be seen again.
Abel guides her down the aisle, not exactly dragging her but urging her forward with a firm grip on her arm that continues to provoke my last nerve. His mouth is clearly swollen, and dark bruises are starting to form beneath the tight muscles in his throat. And still, he chooses to deliver his sister to me so willingly.
My heart beats in time to the music, and I don’t draw in a single breath until Ivy stands before me. Abel releases her, and she sways a little on her feet. Annoyance festers inside me as I consider the reason. Is it nerves, or has she been drinking?
When she has settled into her place, she tilts her chin up to look at me, and it’s impossible to miss the startled gasp that falls from her lips. The glow of the candles dances over us, highlighting my features in distorted shapes. Almost immediately, her eyes are drawn to the half-skull, and the roses slip from her hands to scatter around our feet. She looks startled, slightly embarrassed, and morbidly fascinated as she continues to study me.
I regret not allowing her to see me until now because more than anything, I wish we were alone for this moment. In my mind, I had played out this scenario so many times. I imagined all the ways it might unfold. Fear. Anger. Terror. I could easily see her running from me. Throwing herself in front of a car on the street rather than go through with this. I never imagined she might look at me the way she is right now. That she would want to study me. That she would find me so… intriguing.
I’m not certain how long we stand there like that. I don’t even realize I’ve reached for her wrist, anchoring her to me, until my thumb grazes over the warm pulse beating wildly there. Perhaps that is why she hasn’t moved. Her eyes drift to the large fingers wrapped around her, examining them as if they are a weapon. It’s tempting to release her, to see if she might still consider running, but I find that I don’t want to.
Regardless, there isn’t time to consider it. The music draws to an end, and we are both forced to focus on the priest. He instructs us to sit in the designated chairs on the platform, and so begins the traditional ceremony.
We open with a hymn, followed by readings from the Old Testament and the New. The priest speaks at length about marriage, gospel, and reflection, but I hear very little of it. When Ivy and I are united in front of the altar and asked to join hands, she offers them to me stiffly.
My fingers wrap around hers, noting she has grown cold and pale as if her reality is finally settling over her. She swallows and looks up at me from beneath her lashes, and I catch a glimpse of her oddly shaped pupil. Something she often tries to hide with her hair. That pupil was the source of much torment when she was a child, and the humiliation from her school days still lingers with her. When she is my wife, she will come to understand that I will not permit her to hide it from me or anyone else.